


A Wizard's Pupil

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: F/M, Interspecies, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denethor's idea of service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wizard's Pupil

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say I can't believe I wrote this, but I know myself better than that. Even so, poor Pippin. I owe him a pint after putting him through this one. I tried to leave this out of my continuity, not least because I'm using a movieverse characterization here, but the story reared up and demanded to be let in, and picked vignettes to support its case. So.

Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/profile)[**ringprov**](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/) Three Challenge Challenge: this combines #3 (characters discuss a dream) with two word and mood challenges #22 and #26. Also, written for [](http://danachan.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://danachan.livejournal.com/)**danachan**, but it's not her fault.

 

"_No, I won't tell you! NO!_"

Pippin sat bolt upright, chest heaving, staring into the darkness. He didn't realized he'd screamed aloud till Merry's hand moved on his arm. "Pippin?" Merry whispered, voice rough with sleep. "Pip-love?"

"Merry." Pippin gasped, found Merry's hand with his own, tangled their fingers, took a deep breath, then another. Merry curled closer, his other hand on Pippin's back, and waited until Pippin could turn to him and pull him into a tight embrace.

"Oh, Merry." Merry was rubbing his back now; Pippin curled into his warmth, his living breathing real warmth, and took another deep breath, and tried to stop shuddering. "Merry. Oh, this one. It was---" Pippin shook again.

"Not such a lovely dream, eh, Pip?" Merry kissed his cheek, stroked his hair. "The maidens had buck teeth and the strawberries weren't ripe?"

"Oh, definitely." Pippin laughed, eyes wet with relief, and kissed Merry's shoulder. Merry stroked his back and asked, "Would it help to talk?"

Pippin nearly shook his head, but something within him, some bit exhausted with this particular burden, nodded instead. "It was about Lord Denethor," Pippin whispered.

"When he died? That must have been horrid."

"No, Merry." Pippin's voice cracked, but he forced it to words. "No, before then." And as he whispered, unraveling the tale, Merry's stroking hands began to tremble.

 

*|*

 

As Pippin hurried down the hall to his new lord's chambers, he nearly ran into footstools and wall-hangings in the grey dimness, for his mind was far away with Faramir. Faramir, who had walked up beneath the gate-arch and into his heart. Faramir, who had spoken to him warmly and kissed him gently and slept peacefully in his arms for far too few hours. Faramir, who had soothed the lonely ache for Merry and for Boromir and for Frodo. He hadn't filled that ache---no one could---but Pippin had been so glad to have found Faramir, and now was so worried for him. He wasn't sure he could stand losing him right after discovering him.

Pippin was shortly to find out just what he could stand.

"Peregrin." Lord Denethor opened the door, a lamp in his other hand. "As esquire of my chamber you shall attend my bath." He turned before Pippin could reply, not that, as Pippin reflected a moment later, there was really anything to say; he had sworn himself to Denethor's service, the least he might do was hold towels. So, he followed the lamp through dim, wide chambers to Denethor's candlelit bath-room, where a full tub already steamed. Pippin stood by, eyes downcast, as Denethor disrobed and climbed in; he was tired, and the room was moist and hot, so he found it easy to concentrate to the exclusion of all else on standing up straight and not yawning.

Then, his lord broke that concentration. "Peregrin, sing for me."

Pippin's head jerked up. "Sing, my lord?" Denethor was leaning on the tub's edge, smiling at him with that same measuring, calculating gaze with which he'd watched Pippin kiss his ring. "Sing," he replied, and Pippin took a deep breath, there being nothing for it. At least while he was singing he might close his eyes. "_O, Water hot we may pour at need/Down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed..._" Pippin's voice was thin and rough in his own ears, but Denethor seemed to enjoy it as he sat back in the water and sighed. When the song finished Denethor stayed still for a long moment; then he climbed suddenly out of the bath, and before he could catch himself Pippin looked up at him.

_He looks like Boromir_, was Pippin's first unwilling thought. Boromir as he would have been in his later years, his chest fur grey, his scars faded to pale lines, but his shoulders still broad and unstooped, his body still firm and muscled. Denethor smiled again, that unnerving smile, and Pippin felt his cheeks grow pink as he handed up a towel and hoped that he'd be dismissed soon.

Instead, Denethor's smile widened into a hungry grin, as he stepped forward to cup Pippin's chin in his hand. "So, my halfling," he said, so like and so unlike Boromir that Pippin's head swam with confusion, "you can sing, and you can talk. What else can you do with that mouth?"

The confusion cleared. Pippin wished desperately for it back, as his heart plummeted like a stone. Denethor's thumb stroked his cheek, and the grin grew wider yet.

 

*|*

 

_"That's it, Pip," Merry sighed above him, a hand fisting and unclenching in his curls. "Oh, Pippin, that's it, that's it." Pippin couldn't smile with his mouth full, but he did chuckle, and chuckled again when Merry trembled and moaned and twitched in his mouth._

It would have been easier if all he'd felt were disgust. It would have been far easier, to kneel there between his lord's thighs, still in his uniform, his hands and mouth full, musk in his nose and Denethor's hand heavy on his head; then he could have told himself this was merely service to his lord and that it would be over soon. But Pippin didn't lie, least of all to himself, and he knew that he could see Denethor's sons in him; the command that was warm in Boromir and sweet in Faramir was stern in Denethor but undeniable all the same, and it set a white flame flickering behind Pippin's eyes. So he knelt there, achingly hard, mouth full and Denethor's hand on his nape pressing his head down farther, and sucked as hard as he could and drew breath as best he could and felt tears running down his face.

The only warning Pippin had was Denethor's hand tightening in his hair; then his head was pushed down even harder, and he couldn't breathe at all as Denethor pulsed in his mouth, filling it with bitterness. Denethor let a long satisfied sigh above him and released him, and he pulled his head up and swallowed and gasped, blinking till his vision cleared.

"Well done, Peregrin." That hand beneath his chin again, stroking his cheek and pulling his gaze upwards; Pippin trembled as he looked up, finding the smile still as hungry as ever. "Well done, my esquire. Tell me, did you do so well with my son?"

Pippin gasped despite himself; Denethor's grip tightened just the smallest bit. "Did you think I would not know how Faramir spent his last night here?" His thumb kept stroking Pippin's cheek. "Did you go to his bed by his call, or were you the wizard's reward?"

Pippin could only gape in shock. He had gone to Faramir because he'd wanted to, because Faramir's eyes and smile and sadness called to his heart. To hear it thought of so, to hear Denethor accuse Gandalf of using him so----his fists clenched before he could stop them, and though he unclenched them immediately, Denethor noticed and gave a sharp laugh. "You will tell me, my halfling, even if not now. For the moment, rise. I wish to see you." Pippin got to his feet, stepping back as he did so, but Denethor drew him forward again, so close his breath stirred Pippin's hair. "I wish to see you," he repeated, steel thinly draped in velvet. "Disrobe, Peregrin."

"My lord." Pippin swallowed a plea, and nodded, and began to undo his clasps. That was when he realized with dismay that he was still hard.

 

*|*

 

_Frodo smiled, one arm lazily making the water ripple, the other round Pippin's shoulders. "Mmm, Pippin," he murmured, as Pippin laid kisses and nips down his damp throat. "Mmm. Merry had said you'd grown, but I had no idea, coz, what a fine lad you've become." Pippin smiled, and bit Frodo slowly, the way Merry had told him to, and was delighted to finally render Frodo gasping and speechless._

"What a fair young man you are." Denethor's broad hand lay over Pippin's heart; Pippin lay still, barely breathing, wanting to be gone, wanting desperately to please. "And yet your skin is fine as cream." The hand was trailing lower, fingertips dragging over Pippin's skin. "Not a hair on you but for your head and your feet. And here, of course." Denethor's fingers ruffled the hair at Pippin's groin, adroitly avoiding his prick, which was traitorously hard and twitched as if it might find its way to Denethor's touch all on its own. "Tell me, Peregrin, did you seduce my other son? Is that why he was too distracted to take leadership of your Company?"

"Sir, my lord, please." Pippin wanted to close his eyes, but Denethor's gaze held them just as firmly as his hand had held Pippin's chin. "Boromir was my friend and my kinsman's, and we loved him. He was a great gentleman."

"Indeed." Denethor's fingers spiraled in; Pippin felt the pleasure threading through the terror, and gasped despite himself. "Indeed you did, I can see it in your eyes. And yet the wizard might have turned even that to his uses, his and his puppet's who seeks my throne." Denethor growled low in his throat. "I will have what you know of him, Peregrin, and I will reward you for the truth you give me." His fingers began stroking; Pippin bit his lip, as for the first time in his life he actually fought the haze of pleasure. "Tell me of Aragorn son of Arathorn."

 

*|*

 

_Diamond's hands were small and soft, not quite as quick as his own, but no matter. His hands were busy themselves, with those fascinating soft breasts, the little nipples hard beneath his fingers. He squeezed them gently and she moaned into his mouth and giggled, and firmed her stroking grip, and Pippin wondered why he had_ ever_disliked girls._

"My lord, please, please..." Pippin begged, not knowing what for. For release? For dismissal? He writhed against Denethor's chest where one broad arm held him firmly, and sobbed as Denethor's long fingers stroked him just so far, just to the edge where pleasure and pain blurred together. "Please, sir, my lord, please..."

"You beg as if you sang," Denethor replied, voice soft and cruel. "I like the sound of it, Peregrin. I like it very much." He kissed Pippin's brow. "What I do _not_ like is how you have not answered me." All the while the merciless fingers stroked. "Do you think I cannot perceive threats to my rule? Do you think I do not know my son must have opposed this Ranger? Tell me, is that why he died?"

"My lord, no, please, no!" Pippin trembled, fire in all his veins. His hand rose as if to push Denethor's away, but Denethor curled his other hand round Pippin's arm, fingers tracing the muscles even as they held the arm down, and Pippin didn't dare struggle. He didn't dare. "Sir, Aragorn strove to heal him! He couldn't save him, my lord, please, please!"

"Very well, my esquire." Denethor's voice was low and amused. "Very well, but only because you beg so very sweetly." The fingers wrapped tighter, moved faster; Denethor pressed his mouth to Pippin's, swallowing his wail, as Pippin sobbed till tears ran from his eyes and saw the darkness catch fire and peaked.

 

*|*

 

_"Ah, my lads, do you know what you do?" Boromir murmured huskily, an arm round each of them. Pippin heard Merry's warm voice reassuring Boromir as he buried his face in Boromir's neck, tasting the strength of that corded throat, the pulse beating there. He nipped Boromir, and grinned to feel that whole mighty frame tense in response to his small mouth. Then Pippin lifted his head, and watched Boromir kiss Merry till he was so roused he couldn't stand it anymore; Boromir startled when Pippin kissed him, then chuckled into the kiss and drew him closer yet._

Denethor's mouth was hard and demanding on Pippin's, drawing out his breath even Pippin struggled to catch it. "A talented mouth indeed," he said with satisfaction, as Pippin gasped and shook. "Tender as a woman's, determined as a warrior's. I am glad to have this mouth in my service, Peregrin."

"Th-thank you, Sir." Pippin fervently hoped that was a dismissal, and for no more such service. "May I rise, my lord?"

It wasn't a dismissal. "And where will you go, my esquire?" Denethor wiped his hand on the sheets and stroked Pippin's side, raising goosebumps.

"Where, my lord?" Pippin racked his mind for the right answer, struggling with his weariness and the dazing effects of his peak. "Why, just to my bed."

"And not to report to Mithrandir." Denethor laughed as if Pippin had joked. "What a lovely little spy you make, as well-trained as you are handsome."

That was too much. "My lord!" Pippin struggled against Denethor's grip. "My lord, I am no spy! I swore you my fealty, I've done everything you've asked!" _Even this!_

"Yes, you have," Denethor agreed, effortlessly holding Pippin down. "You have done splendidly, Peregrin; fear not, I have marked it well. Lie still now." Pippin looked up at him, and drew a great breath, and went limp. "You serve me very well, Peregrin, so well that I would have you beside me all this dark night. Soon you may sleep here; soon, but not yet." Denethor's eyes glittered. Pippin hadn't known his heart could sink further. And yet, as Denethor's hard mouth descended on his, he felt himself hardening in response.

 

*|*

 

_"It is as if you walked out of my books," said Faramir in hushed wonder, stroking Pippin's hair. "Or out of my brother's letters, bearing news of him to my heart. But even if you had not met him, Pippin, I would be glad to have met you, glad beyond all hope to be with you now." Pippin smiled, his heart aching with such joy there were no words; Faramir read it all in his eyes, and kissed him again._

Denethor's hands were firm on Pippin's body. "There is one more service I would have of you this night," he murmured in Pippin's ear, and Pippin couldn't contain a sigh of relief; he heard himself and tensed, and Denethor chuckled. "Are you weary, my halfling?"

_I wish he would stop calling me that._"A little, my lord." Denethor smiled, almost like his sons' smiles and yet so completely different, as he ran his hand up Pippin's neck and cheek into his hair. "Soon, we will both sleep. But first, I would have you."

_No!_ Pippin's mouth burst open on a plea he knew would be futile even as he cried it. "My lord, please, I really would rather not."

Denethor merely grinned, that same predatory grin. "Oh, but I would rather, Peregrin." His fingers wrapped round Pippin's arm possessively.

"Sir, my lord, I might---" Pippin closed his eyes against the glittering ones above him, swallowed hard. "I might suck you again." The reply to that was another chuckle, another hard kiss. "You might, and you will," Denethor said; Pippin shivered, wondering how his lord could make him so dread an act he had so thoroughly loved to perform. "But for now I would have you, my little soft-skinned soldier." Denethor's fingers stroked his arms, pressing into the flesh. "And you will please me, Peregrin, will you not?"

"Yes, my lord." Denethor kissed him again, and Pippin felt like weeping.

 

*|*

 

_ Merry collapsed to the pillows beside him, chest heaving. "Oh, Pip. Pip-love." Pippin could only gaze at him, tears in his eyes, heart still pounding. Merry was still gasping, harder than Pippin---which made sense, he'd done more of the work---but he hauled himself up to lay a still-shaking hand on Pippin's cheek. "Didn't hurt you, did I?" Pippin shook his head, and kissed Merry's hand, and smiled, and Merry's answering smile was like a sunrise. "Love you," Pippin gasped in reply. "Merry, I love you."_

It would have been easier if Denethor had put him on his knees; he would have buried his face in the pillow and drowned himself in memories. But Denethor had him on his back, both his wrists clamped in one large hand, three fingers of the other buried deep within him. Pippin arched his back and cried out with the pleasure and the horror of it, his eyes pressed shut, the darkness behind them black and glittering like Denethor's eyes. "My lord," he sobbed, tears running from his eyes. "My lord, I beg you---"

"Beg me, Peregrin." The fingers slid back so very slowly. Pippin collapsed to the bed, chest heaving. "Beg me with that mouth of yours, in that voice of yours. Beg me." He was over Pippin now, slowly, steadily pressing into his body. "Beg me."

And Pippin did, though he never knew, then or later, what he pleaded, as Denethor slid slowly into him to the hilt, and pulled back, and thrust a little faster, and growled, as Pippin's hard prick rubbed against Denethor's belly on each stroke as if it strove towards him all on its own, as the pleasure and the pain and the agony entwined within Pippin till the thread of his voice broke and he could only sob. Pippin wept as Denethor had him, pounding into him, and wept hardest of all when he peaked; the lightning rushing through him brought him a blissful moment of oblivion, but then he came back to himself to find Denethor clutching his wrists so tightly he thought they might snap, growling above him and thrusting harder than ever as he emptied deep within him.

Denethor fell forward onto him, rolled sideways a bit. Pippin gasped, and turned his face into the bedsheets, and sobbed until Denethor let him go; he rolled away, curled up, kept sobbing. Denethor breathed hard beside him, raising a hand to stroke Pippin's curls. "Well done, my esquire," he murmured, the sound of his voice wrapping Pippin's spine in ice. "Well done."

_Please let me go._ Pippin bit his fist and breathed deeply till he could stop sobbing. "Well done," Denethor murmured once more, leaning over him again. "Did you love my son, Peregrin? Or did you merely beguile him?"

"I loved him." Pippin whispered, not knowing which son Denethor meant, knowing it was true for both. "I love him. My lord."

"Very good, Peregrin. Sleep now." Somehow, despite it all, despite or because of Denethor's hand stroking his hair, Pippin sank into weariness, and forgot where he was long enough to sleep.

 

*|*

 

"Oh, Pip." Merry's voice was hushed with horror. "Oh, Pip. No wonder you didn't want to tumble at the Houses of Healing." His hands had stilled their stroking, and now trembled on Pippin's back. Pippin stroked Merry's hair, as if Merry were the one needing comfort; he felt light and empty, after unburdening himself of that tale. "You didn't know, Merry, you didn't know. No one knew. I told no one."

"Why not, Pippin? You should have---"

"Told Gandalf? And what could he have done, when I'd pledged myself to serve Denethor? I just didn't know he'd take it so _literally_." Pippin gave a little broken laugh; Merry gasped, and his shaking hands clutched Pippin more tightly, but he managed a little laugh of his own.

After a moment more, Pippin sat back, his hands sliding down Merry's arms to tangle fingers. "And I couldn't tell Faramir. How could he have borne it, Merry? So I didn't tell anyone. And then I was before the Black Gate, and it didn't matter anymore."

"Oh, Pippin. My brave Pippin." Merry leaned his brow against Pippin's; even in the dark, they each knew where the other was. "You should never have had to bear it."

"You helped me." Merry didn't move, but Pippin felt surprise ripple through him. "All through it, I thought of the times I'd been to bed willingly, the lovers who've brought me joy. More than anyone else, Merry, I thought of you."

Merry drew in a long, long, shuddery breath, and his reply was a fervent kiss.


End file.
